Nothing But Trouble (2 page)

She brought her knee up between his thighs, not as a hit, but as a threat, and a chorus of audible wincing went up from the roomful of sympathetic males.

“Maybe you misunderstood the name of this establishment,” the woman drawled in a slow, Southern accent Brandon found mesmerizing. “Nothing But Trouble refers to me, not the type of behavior I’m looking for in my clientele.”

She cocked her hip, obviously in complete control. “That was my daddy’s nickname for me growing up, you know. He’d say to me, ‘Laura Jean, you are nothing but trouble.’ Why do you suppose my daddy thought that?”

“Owwwwww! Stop!”

She decreased the pressure on his arm but didn’t let him go.

“Now, I think it’s time y’al head on home, and don’t come back ’til you learn some manners. Ya hear?”

“Yesssss,” he hissed.

“Good.” She released him and stepped back. “That goes for al the rest of you, too. Understand, boys?” she said, sweeping her gaze over the crowd. Brandon glanced around and almost broke out in laughter as a room full of men nodded their heads vigorously. The woman splayed her smal hands over her hipbones, and Brandon found himself searching her fingers for rings. There were none.

As her gaze moved in his direction, he froze, feeling an odd desire to have her look at him. Real y look at him, not through him, the way she seemed to do to everyone else.

But her eyes didn’t rest on him for more than a heartbeat, and her indifferent glance told him she found nothing special about him. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, considering the way he was dressed, the way he looked.

He was three days into a six-week joyride on what his mother cal ed his final act of lunacy. He’d just passed the Rhode Island bar exam, and he’d wanted a break before starting his job in the Newport County District Attorney’s office. Twenty straight years of school—a bachelor’s, MBA and law degree, not to mention studying for the bar—had taken its toll. For six weeks he wanted to think of nothing more taxing than which direction to point his meticulously restored ’ Mustang.

So it wasn’t surprising the lady hadn’t taken a second look.

He was dressed for comfort, and he hadn’t shaved since arriving at Ned’s Greenwich Vil age apartment two days ago. Stil , he wasn’t accustomed to being so readily dismissed by the fairer sex. He sat down slowly as he watched her haul the two men to the back exit. After seeing them through it, she fluttered her fingers at them. “Toodles.”

Then she slammed the door closed, swung on her heel, glared at the crowd one last time, then flounced out of the bil iards room.

“Who—or what—was that?” Brandon asked Ned, trying to pick his jaw up off the table.

Ned’s brown eyes sparkled. “
That
was Laura Tanner, the owner of this fine watering hole,” he answered, then took a swig of beer.

“Wow,” was al he could think to say. “And here I thought it was a miniature bul dog with a prettier face.”

Ned’s beer bottle thunked as it hit the scratched wood table.

“Yep,” he said, grinning. “That about sums up Laura. It’s why I like coming here. She keeps a tight rein, and if things get out of hand, watching her handle them is always entertaining. I think ninety percent of her clientele come just because of her.”

“The men, anyway,” Brandon commented dryly.

Ned shrugged. After a moment he said, “So how’d your parents take the news?”

Brandon forced his thoughts from the bar owner. “About taking the Assistant D.A. job?”

“Yeah.”

“Not well, at first.”

Chuckling, Ned said, “Why do I think that might qualify as the understatement of the year?”

Brandon grinned at him. He and Ned had met as freshmen at Yale, at a lecture given by Ralph Nader. Brandon had been fascinated by the long-haired hippie type who’d taken the seat beside him and who’d gone on to gril Nader on some tough issues. After the lecture he’d introduced himself and asked Ned to get coffee with him. They’d talked al night and had been best friends ever since.

Ned, his retro hippie attire notwithstanding, was incredibly intel igent and conservative. Brandon stil smiled when he thought of Ned, in suit and ponytail, flying around the stock market trading floor. Though they’d parted ways when they’d headed off to graduate school, they’d remained best friends.

Ned understood Brandon and his family wel —better than anyone else, in fact.

“Wel , they finally got that I wanted to start out in a courtroom, not a board room. But convincing them was . . . work.”

“I’l bet. I can just picture your mother. ‘But Brandon, darling,’” Ned mimicked in a near-perfect imitation of Priscilla Prince, “‘you must take your rightful place in the family business.’”

“Bingo. My father’s predicting I’ll hold out five years. My mother’s more optimistic. She’s giving me a year to ‘get it out of my system.’”

Ned chuckled. “You rebel.”

“What can I say? Every family has to have a black sheep.”

“Oh, is that what you are?” Shaking his head, he added, “You’ve been doing everything your family has expected of you your entire life. It’s about damn time you did it your way.”

Inside, Brandon bristled. Mostly because Ned was right. He knew he deserved to follow the career path of his choice, but stil , he felt guilty for disappointing his folks by not immediately joining Prince Shipping. But this was something he had to do.

He wanted to make a difference, accomplish his goals without the almighty power of the Prince name backing him up.

He smiled grimly. “Well, thank you, Frank Sinatra.” He took a slug of beer. “And for your information, I haven’t always done what my folks asked me. Don’t forget, they weren’t thril ed about me dating Beth.”

“Right. That was a real act of rebel ion,” Ned retorted, rolling his eyes. “If I remember, her blood wasn’t the requisite shade of blue.” He scratched his temple. “Whatever happened between you two, anyway?”

Brandon was heartened to note that the pain was practically gone and his disappointment over their break-up no longer important. Thank God he was over it. Over her. He shrugged.

“She dumped me like a bad apple.”

Ned’s eyes clouded with sympathy for a fraction of an instant, but he knew better than to voice it. “Anyone new?”

Brandon let his gaze wander back to the entrance to the main bar. “You never know. Maybe.”

Ned shook his head. “Don’t go there, buddy.”

“Go where?”

“I recognize that look in your eyes. You’re interested in Laura.”

“So?”

“You’d have an easier time convincing Rush Limbaugh to vote Democratic.”

“Is that right?” He’d always enjoyed a challenge.

Ned squinted his eyes. “Uh-oh,” he muttered, then pulled out his wal et. “Ten bucks says she’l chew you up and spit you out.” Brandon stood, grinning. “Fifty.”

Ned rolled his eyes, then gazed up at his college buddy with a look bordering on abject pity. “Okay, but I’m not paying your hospital bill,” he said, standing too.

“Where are you going?” Brandon asked. “I work alone.”

“Not this time, pal. I wouldn’t miss this show for al the pork futures on Wal Street.”

“Just don’t cramp my style.”

“Oh, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m no fool. I’m watching from a safe distance.” He tipped back his bottle and drained it, then smacked it down on the table. “Good luck, man.

Watch your vital organs.”

 * * * 

LAURA PUNCHED the button of the CD player, and the throaty voice of Bonnie Raitt drifted from the speakers. Then she turned and surveyed her domain proudly. Considering she’d been handed lemons most of her life, she considered her bar, Nothing But Trouble, proof that Laura Tanner could make lemonade.

Ali dropped her tray on the counter and heaved a huge sigh.

“The Booker twins are back.”

Laura looked out over the room, searching for the infamous sisters. “Who are their targets tonight?”

“Jimmy Raye and his cousin,” Ali grumbled.

“Uh-oh, this is trouble,” Hannah predicted ominously, swiveling on her stool to take a look. After a moment she swung back. “Wel , the good news is, he looks annoyed.”

Ali gave Hannah a grateful smile, then swung back to Laura.

“Dry Rob Roy, martini up with a twist, and a glass of chablis.”

Laura spun to mix the drinks, withholding judgment. As far as men went, Jimmy Raye wasn’t the worst of the lot. Not that he was a saint, either, especially when he came in on Ali’s nights off. But Ali had a real thing for the flirtatious firefighter, and Laura had no desire to burst her bubble. That was, unless Jimmy hurt her. In which case, Jimmy would answer to Laura.

After shaking the martini, she strained it into a stemmed glass, rubbed a lemon peel along the rim, twisted it, and dropped it in the drink.

Suddenly the hair on her nape prickled, and she went stil .

Then she heard Hannah say, “Wel , hel-looo there,” under her breath. “Come to mama, baby.”

Laura glanced up at Hannah, who whistled softly. Both of her friends were ogling someone—a man, of course—to their left. She followed their lust-fil ed gazes down the length of the bar. And stared right into a pair of the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. She went stil, mesmerized. She recognized the man as one who’d sat in a booth in the back room, but he’d been too far away from her to see his eyes then. They were the color of a midsummer leaf and sparkled with . . . humor.

Laura dragged her gaze from the man’s eyes and checked out his mouth to see if it was curved in a grin. It wasn’t. His lips were firm and straight and very, very sexy.

At least a two-day growth of beard shadowed his jaw, and his jet-black hair was a little long and shaggy. He had proud cheekbones, a solid chin, and a really nice nose.

Al in all, every woman’s fantasy. Perhaps he was a mirage.

Laura blinked. Twice. But the man didn’t disappear like a mirage. He sat four stools down from Hannah and just stared at Laura. And Laura felt helpless to do anything but stare right back. A droning noise began in her head, and it took her a moment to recognize it as Ali humming, “Someday My Prince Will Come.”

“Laura?” she heard . . . from far, far away it seemed.

“Hmmm?” she managed.

“Earth to Laura.”

The fog that had momentarily enveloped her dissolved. She shook her head and glanced back at Ali, embarrassment pinking her cheeks. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that drink order?”

Ali grinned. “I didn’t give you a drink order.” She cocked her head the tiniest bit toward the man. “But I bet he has one.”

She winked. “And you know what they say. ‘What the customer wants,’ and all that.”

Laura ran her hands down the sides of her overal s and tried to right her suddenly off-kilter world. She fell back on their old game. “What do you say? Actor?”

Hannah tossed in her opinion. “A guy that good-looking has to have something wrong with him. Convicted felon.”

Ali glanced at the man, then back at Laura. “Royal prince.”

Laura snorted, tossing down her rag. “You’re nuts, Ali.

Royal princes shave and wear designer clothes, not Planet Hollywood T-shirts.”

Putting a cool, efficient expression on her face, Laura made her way to the man. “Hey. What can I get you?” she asked briskly.

The man’s eyes gleamed with that secret humor. And an open, easy honesty that had to be fake. “What’s your specialty?”

Laura cocked her head. “Anything you want,” she said, then almost groaned. “Any drink, I mean.”

His lips did tip up then, and she was startled to see two deep dimples on either side of his mouth. She’d always thought that dimples made a man seem less masculine somehow, but she quickly revised that misconception. This man’s dimples were sexy as sin.

He raked his hair back with long, elegant fingers, and she absently noticed his nails were clean and wel cared for.

Somehow that seemed a little odd, considering his casual attire and stubble.

“How about a Lite draft?” He indicated the man sitting beside him, who’d completely escaped Laura’s attention before.

“And one for my buddy, here.”

Flustered, Laura nearly whimpered. “Oh!” She took a breath. “Hey there, Ned. Didn’t see ya. How’s it goin’?”

“Hey, Laura. Same old, same old,” her regular replied, but his eyes seemed to be gleaming with mischief for some reason.

She nodded, then went to pour two beers. Setting them down, she was proud her hands didn’t shake uncontrollably.

There was something unsettling about the man’s intense gaze.

As if he could see right into her soul. “Your first time here?”

“My very first time. I’m just here on vacation.”

“Oh!” she said, trying desperately not to let that news disappoint her. “Where are you from?”

“Rhode Island.” He slid a ten-dollar bill toward her. When Laura picked it up, he hung on just a heartbeat too long before releasing it. Their fingers didn’t touch, but she felt a tingle nonetheless. A very annoying tingle.

She shot a look at him to see if he’d felt it too, but he’d already returned his attention to Ned and a discussion about the hockey game playing out silently on the TV behind her.

Okay, so it was a one-way tingle. And the intense gaze he’d bestowed on her earlier had been a figment of her obviously overtired imagination. Why she found that even more annoying than the tingle, she couldn’t say. After all, she generally got good and ornery when customers paid too much attention to her. The fact that he didn’t pay a speck shouldn’t bother her in the least.

Didn’t
bother her in the least. Not a bit, dang it.

Laura noted the way he popped peanuts in his mouth, and it suddenly occurred to her that she should probably refil the snack bowl for them. After al , Ned was a good customer, and he deserved the best service she had to offer.

While she fil ed the bowl she cast a sideways glance and found his attention once again directed her way. He smiled his thanks, and Laura’s head went a little fuzzy. She resisted the urge to shake it clear. His smile wasn’t promising or lecherous or anything but real friendly. She should be grateful. She hated male come-ons more than just about anything else.

Dropping the large bag of nuts back into the lower cabinet, she took the ten and went to make change, grateful for the respite from those deep green, friendly eyes.